What have I been doing for the last few hours, days, weeks? I’ve been writing letters and calling companies, governments, departments, divisions and issuing bodies, telling them to take me off their lists, to move me, to update or cancel me, to erase me. My life on one continent is shrinking, is being torn down, dusted off, shredded and recycled. All is being sold off, given away, chucked out, boxed in and loaded on a ship for ports unknown (or even better, if I pick the right shipping company: known).

I am busy, fully conscious of the passing days, the backward-ticking stopwatch, the anticipation and excitement building even as nostalgia and premature longing poke their noses from around the corner behind me. I feel lighter, unburdened and at times exhilarated by the rush of change. Sure, I do feel anxiety — a little, but not as much as you (or I) might think. It’s probably waiting for me on the other end, around some dark corner of the Barri Gòtic or in an eternal lineup at the Foreigner’s Office, but for now I’m too busy savouring my last moments in Montreal.

The weekend consisted of two beautiful sunny days, the reflecting snow and ice blinding me and burning a late-summer glow into my cheeks as I raced around a frozen lake, alone both days, free, gliding, flying. If my visa was so delayed, perhaps it was only to give me such a great gift: a perfect Montreal winter, one like we haven’t seen for years, maybe decades (before my time here, at any rate). So much snow, so little melting, such pleasant temperatures.

As of yesterday, I have a valid visa in my passport, aching for its duty to be fulfilled by an immigration officer’s stamp. The house sale is “in the bag”, the final handoff going down in a couple more weeks, so all else must be done by then. After that, I’ll take a deep breath, spend one homeless week here with friends and then it’s off over the ocean (flying 35,000 feet above my few remaining possessions as they slosh through the North Atlantic) to a new land, a new life, and a patiently-waiting love.

In Montreal, it never rains but it snows. (What do you know? It’s doing just that, right now.)

Time for a short but sweet quiz… What is 2008?

International Year of the Potato?
International Year of Sanitation?
International Year of Languages?
International Year of Planet Earth?
International Year of the Reef?
Chinese Year of the Rat (starting February 7)?
European Year of Intercultural Dialogue?

Well, yes, actually it’s all of those things. But, it also looks like it may be the International Year of Me Moving to Spain (pending official UNESCO designation). I found out a short time ago that — after all this waiting (more than seven months for something that’s supposed to take three or at most four) — my visa has been approved (in a spirit of Intercultural Dialogue, perhaps?).  I need to contact the consulate tomorrow to see what the details and timeline are, but basically…I guess I’m in the Spanish club.  Or will be, soon enough.  Por fin.

Of course, now that the stress of waiting is over, the stress of totally reorganizing my life begins.  A new adventure awaits!

But the best news of all is that, when people inevitably ask me: “So, have you heard anything about your visa?”, I can actually respond with an answer they haven’t heard before.  ”Yes!  And it’s: ‘Yes!’”

P.S. Interestingly enough, my first-ever trip to Spain was exactly three years ago…isn’t life funny, sometimes?

P.P.S. Also funny was that I was having my teeth cleaned at the dentist’s office, practically next door to the consulate, when they phoned and left the happy message on my machine. And, this afternoon (before I discovered the message), I was on the verge of booking a short trip to Spain for a visit…just as well I held off on clicking that tempting “buy” button.

I’ve been doing some soul-searching, I guess, these past few weeks. Waiting for a visa (yes, still) does that to you. Also, I suppose my previous post (about life and death) reflects my mood: thinking about what’s really important. And so, without further ado, here is…(drumroll, please)…the meaning of life. I suppose I ought to capitalize the ‘M’ and the ‘L’, respectively, but I’m not convinced this is my “final answer”. So, this is the lower-case meaning of life, according to me. This morning’s version, at least. And, no, it’s not forty-two. As always, your mileage may vary.

Okay, now these are the important bits, so I will capitalize them…

• LOVING
• LEARNING
• LAUGHING (aka BEING HAPPY; aka Being present; aka Experiencing the joy of the moment)

(Easier said than done, you may say? Well, that may be true, but it’s also true that these are done by doing, not by saying.)

I think it’s all about the heart. Loving, learning and laughing from the heart, not from the brain. For example, while I do find book learning and gaining new knowledge rewarding, it’s the experiential learning – doing things, seeing places, meeting people – that is even more satisfying. To me, that’s more of the heart than the mind.

So what makes life worth living? I think it’s our “Aha!” moments that hold the key. And when do these moments happen, for me? At first, I struggled to think of a few cases, but soon the ideas began flooding in. It turns out: a lot of things! Here are a few examples, and all of the following can be classified into one or more of the categories above: Loving, Learning and Laughing.

• Being in nature. Rising out of the trees to witness an unexpected vista. Feeling that I’m one tiny part of a vast landscape. Experiencing the beauty of the natural world: thundering ocean waves; towering mountains; subtle-hued deserts; ancient forests; living, speaking ice; everchanging cloud formations; sunrise and sunset; elusive meteors; auroras and the humbling stars. Rain and the sunshine; the caress of the most gentle breeze and the whipping of a gale that leaves me breathless.
• Attending celebrations, the coming together of people to honour a marriage, a birth, a death. Or simply being with good friends, for no reason other than to enjoy each other’s presence, to reconnect our separate lives.
• Singing with others; playing an instrument in a group; playing with children, hearing them laugh and seeing life anew, as they see it for the first time.
• Receiving the gift of connectedness through art and books; sharing thoughts and emotions with someone from another time and place, someone I have never met.
• Learning something new. The moment of realization, after ages of slow and frustrating progress, that I can now do something I never could do before.
• The pleasure of experiencing anything done with extreme skill and attention: the fine work of a craftsman, a virtuosic music performance, the perfectly arranged words of a poem, the staging and acting of a great dramatic work, the physical mastery of a top athlete and the magical grace of a dancer or Cirque du Soleil acrobat. Knowing that nothing we do can be perfect; nonetheless, experiencing something and being convinced: “this is perfect.”
• Feeling physically tired and satisfied, for having achieved something. The simple pleasure of doing. Climbing, walking, running, building something with my own hands, even the simple act of shoveling snow.
• Holding someone, touching and being touched, sharing love physically and emotionally.
• Doing anything selflessly for another. Paying attention; noticing someone’s need, even something as simple as holding the door.
• Comforting someone who is suffering. Putting an arm around a shoulder, giving a hug, listening.
• Giving. Discovering that I need far less than I imagine.
• Laughing. Not cruelly, not at the expense of another. Laughing for no reason, at absurdity, at silliness. Laughing because another is laughing; without knowing why; or because you don’t know what else to do.
• Smiling at a stranger, seeing the surprise on their face, and having them smile back.
• Being moved to tears, by any of the above “aha!” moments. Receiving that private upswell of emotion, and letting it run its course.

Many thanks to “chocolatina”, who handed me two of these three “secrets”, simply in the way she signed her letters. She would close them with: “Tons of love and laughs!” What a wonderful wish for someone to make, reflecting her joyful perspective on life. It just took me a while to clue in to how profound these simple words were. (-;

Further thanks to my grandmothers, who taught me all about unconditional love. My maternal grandmother, though physically frail and mentally very far down that one-way road called Alzheimer’s, continues to inspire her children, grandchildren, and (although they may not realize it yet) great-grandchildren. One of her most wise sayings, which I am told she still repeats regularly, is: “You just have to love and love and never stop.” And, recently, she said to my aunt who was visiting: “I am just sitting here adoring you.” I, in turn — though physically far away — am sitting here thinking about her and adoring her.

Earlier this week, I was reminded of the importance of living life to the full, and of doing it now, and every day. I know of Randy Pausch (a virtual reality and computer education pioneer) through the work I used to do, and have seen him present academic papers on several occasions. I hadn’t heard that he was dying of cancer, nor that he had made a remarkable, inspiring (and now quite famous) “last lecture” back in September (you can see the lecture in full on YouTube or Google Video).

Happily, Randy has outlived the doctors’ forecasts from last August, but he is still dying of cancer (his treatments now are to slow it, not cure it). In the meantime, he speaks openly and inspiringly about it, is living a remarkably full life, fulfilling many childhood dreams and enjoying every remaining day of “bonus time” with his wife and three kids.

Then today, on CBC’s Tapestry podcast, I listened to a rebroadcast interview (recorded in 2004) with Irish poet and scholar John O’Donohue. This inspirational man died unexpectedly at 53 years of age, on January 3, 2008. His words (in the interview as well as in his poetry and essays) often touch on death, eerily enough.

At one point in the interview, he addressed the idea of dying as possibly being similar to birth. If you could present a baby in the womb with an account of what would happen to them: they would be forced to leave the familiar comfort of the womb; they’d go through a frightening, possibly painful and claustrophobic tunnel, into a blinding light; they’d have their connection to the only life they’ve known permanently severed and then…into the unknown. Likely the baby would be terrified and beg to stay put. But…guess what? They would miss out on the chance to experience life in this world. Could the “rebirth”, that is death, be similar? Certainly it is similarly scary, but perhaps this parallel, knowing what we know “on this side” of birth, may be similarly comforting.

One beautiful and simple poem, with which he closed the interview, seemed to sum up his philosophy perfectly (humble apologies if the formatting is incorrect; I’ve only heard it recited, not seen it in print):

I may be one of these, soon. That is, a patient (in a mental asylum), learning how to reintegrate into society. Because for now, all I can do is go loco en el coco, trying to be Zen and learn patience… What doesn’t kill you just makes you loopier. Likely what I need is a good dose of what they pray for in AA: “the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference.” Serenity has never been my forte.

Waiting isn’t fun for anyone. (Actually, I’m a little suspicious that perhaps it is fun for those who are making you wait, like they’re playing some malicious mind-game. Though this is likely just my paranoia that goes hand-in-hand with the insanity.) If you know precisely when what you’re waiting for will happen, it’s not so bad, because then it’s not waiting but anticipation. The torturous/pleasurable excitement of the inevitable. Like a kid, trying to get to sleep on the night before Christmas. Or a miserable office drone in the dead of winter, counting the days until his (free?) Caribbean vacation. In these cases, we say: “I just can’t wait.”

I can wait. I have to. It turns out I’m pretty good at it, which is just as well, because my residence visa application is now past its six-month anniversary (supposed to take three). A maddening situation, because I have absolutely no control over the process, and no way of knowing how long it will take. (I try to pressure a bit, but it doesn’t pay to get overly upset with the people who hold your fate in their hands. The person I speak to at the consulate claims he has no influence over the decision, anyhow. Seems he’s just waiting, too.)

To add time-killing insult to thumb-twiddling injury, there’s the tale of UPS (pronounced “Oops!”). I ordered a camera thingy a week before Christmas from a U.S. shop. I opted for the priciest, “Worldwide Express” delivery (UPS was the only option), supposedly next-day. Well, the thing miraculously crossed the border and cleared customs within a day. But then a huge fiasco ensued, and I couldn’t get them to explain what was going on. Every day the tracking info claimed it was on the truck, “out for delivery”, but they never made their first delivery attempt until a week later (Murphy’s Law dictated that I had stepped out of the house for a very brief and essential trip to the grocery store at that moment). More mixups ensued, then Christmas interrupted (humbug!), and I finally got my precious thingy almost to two weeks after it was shipped. And no, UPS wasn’t interested in reimbursing my money or anything. On top of all that, I had a guest visiting me, and the airline lost her luggage, so yet another day of waiting ensued…

I know my problems are not not life-and-death, but these feel like the worst cases: when you have no control, you can find out no information and have no idea how long you’ll be waiting…you truly do feel trapped.

Well, it’s a new year. My friend’s luggage arrived, with its two bubble-wrapped wine bottles still intact. UPS finally came through and I received my package (also intact, hurray!). After complaining to the store (these were the truly wonderful folks at Katz Eye Optics — thank you!), they convinced the American UPS folks to reimburse me for the shipping (even though, as far as I can tell, it was the Canadian side that blew it). So, is all well that ends well?

Almost. Now all I need is that visa… Stay tuned; I still am, receiving on all frequencies. And no, Mom, don’t worry. I’m not actually going crazy.

Whoop-whoop-nyucka-nyucka-DING!

UPDATE: Just read the latest from the Barcelona World Race (see my earlier post), and a relevant quote popped up, from one of the sailors, Andrew Cape on the Hugo Boss boat: “You can’t worry about the things you can’t control, you can’t let it drive you nuts. You just look for the next opportunity and the cards you’ve been dealt and work it to the best advantage. Over time – which I’ve got! – you get used to taking the rough with the smooth.” (seen here)

¡Felices fiestas! Joyeuses fêtes! Best “holiday wishes” to all! And a Merry Christmas for those who are into such things (personally, I’m having a decidedly un-Christmasy Christmas this year…).

Life’s all about sacrifices: I ruined a UV filter not long after taking this shot; a hot firework fragment landed on it! So that’s why they tell you to always protect your lens with a filter…

Have a healthy, creative year in 2008 (no need to wait until then to start!)… Listen to music (like love, it’s even better if you make it); be obscenely generous; stop buying stuff you don’t need; take a step to the left in the reduce-reuse-recycle hierarchy; quit making unnecessary trips to the washroom; start using your full brain (not just the 10% you thought you could slide by on); enjoy your fingernails while they’re still growing. Really, you have no more excuses! Now, stop whining that the turkey is making you sleepy…

Pod: self-contained unit

Cast: to throw something (so as to cause it to spread over an area)

Over the past two years, I guess I’ve become a podcast junkie. Though I’m a consumer and not a producer of them, podcasts have connected me to the world, so I feel a little less like a self-contained unit. I rely on them: to educate and entertain me; to broaden my horizons by introducing new ideas; to make me think (for a change, right?).

Whenever I wander around town — on the mountain, to the grocery store, to a friend’s house — I listen, not to music but to these portable audio gems. Some may say I should experience and explore my immediate world rather than disconnecting from it, wandering zombie-like with headphones blocking out the traffic, the wind and the bird calls. I do that sometimes. I do pull the earbuds from my ears and hear the same sounds as before, except now they are subtly different. Because I’ve changed.

In the past month I’ve stretched my brain around Alberto Manguel’s wonderful words, and his passionate ideas about words, in the 2007 Massey Lectures (on CBC’s Best of Ideas podcast). Last week, on the BBC’s own Arts and Ideas podcast, I nodded (in agreement, not doziness!) listening to director Mike Figgis speak apocalyptically about the end of culture, and why it’s a bad thing that art (captured for a digital “eternity”) no longer deteriorates.

I heard from an amazing man who helped draft the progressive South African constitution. Later, I was introduced to the author of the His Dark Materials trilogy (incredibly, I hadn’t heard of it before!). Then I met a ninety-year-old who has just published his first novel, with McSweeney’s. (Mind you, he’s been writing all his life; 60 years ago he helped create Mr. Magoo.)

I listened to the brilliant Mark Kermode verbally spar with Simon Mayo, all while poking fun where fun ought to be poked (i.e. at some Hollywood tripe like Good Luck Chuck). Then I synced my steps to the smooth world groove mixes of Canyella (forgiving the fact that she pronounces her chosen Catalan “DJ name” incorrectly). Speaking of Spain (y hablando en español), I continued to hone my Spanish, thanks to Ben and Marina’s prolific Notes in Spanish series, which I’ve subscribed to since (before) it began. I enjoy the occasional photography podcast. And, of course, the daily nonsense of the Onion Radio News. Yes, it’s all a lot to get through each week, but since I only listen out of the house, while walking, it forces me to do a lot of walking!

My two favourite podcasts are actually radio shows that interview authors: CBC’s Words at Large with Eleanor Wachtel, and KCRW’s Bookworm with Michael Silverblatt. I have enjoyed more authors, and discovered more books, on these two programs than I can count. (Actually, so that’s a wee exaggeration since I can count pretty high, but you get the idea…) Ideas, too, is an inspiration.

So, a huge thank you to all those out there making witty, intelligent podcasts (and to those organizations providing their quality radio shows for download on the internet).

Once again, the “birthday” of this blog passed without fanfare, without me even noticing until it had passed. Anyhow, two years and still going, though hardly “strong”: my frequency of posting seems to have tapered off in the last few months… So, here are a few random notes to stir things up again:

Hats off to Gabriela Montero. I just discovered her — she’s a classical pianist from Venezuela who is doing something “shocking” and “revolutionary” in the staid classical world: improvising. It’s what used to be done a lot more, by folks you may have heard of, like Mozart, Beethoven… Her latest album is Baroque (if it ain’t), and she has this to say about it:

It has taken a few years for people to understand and believe the inexplicable mystery of free improvisation, which is what I do and have always done since a very young child. I would like to make clear that every piece on this record was created on the spot, based on themes that are well known of the Baroque period, and every free improvisation was born without any influence of an external theme.

The CBC wrote a little article about her recently, because this past week she played at Glenn Gould Studio in Toronto.

To take a 90 degree turn, and speaking of other “gifted” Latinas, yesterday I remembered why people aren’t handing out any hard-hitting news awards to news site 20 minutos. One of their top headlines yesterday was about los pechos milagrosos de Salma Hayek. Assuming she was not quoted out of context (or perhaps joking…please?), apparently in junior high she asked God for larger breasts, so kids would stop teasing her. She dipped her hand in the holy water at church and said: “God, give me breasts.” And then: “He gave them to me!” A few months later she developed a real pechonalidad (this does not translate to English; it’s a wordplay on “breasts” and “personality”). I guess a miracle is a miracle, but it’s really too bad she didn’t ask God for world peace, an end to poverty, or something…useful. (Though evidently those breasts are currently “useful” for her newborn daughter.)

Even bigger news in Spain this week — you know, besides Salma’s miraculous breasts — was the Spanish king’s comment to Venezuelan President Hugo Chávez, at the Ibero-American summit in Chile: “¿Por qué no te callas?” (”Why don’t you shut up?”) You can now buy this slogan on t-shirts; the internet domain is up for sale on eBay (latest bid: 10,000 Euros); someone invented a popular new tapa by that name (it’s topped with a Spanish flag). In the meeting, it’s obvious Zapatero was trying to stay respectful, even defending his politically-opposite predecessor Aznar, but the king had a shorter fuse, and just couldn’t take Chávez’s comments any more. My question: whatever happened to diplomacy in international politics? (Answer: Screw that! — we can make more money and bigger headlines with confrontation, patriotism and pride.)

Oh yeah, one more thing. I saw the movie “Once” on an airplane last week. Simple, authentic, moving. Yes, it’s a musical, but…I liked it a lot. Go figure. No, there are no “show tunes.” The actors actually composed and sang the songs. Now you can stop “figuring” and just go see it.

“Fall back.” Or “fall in line?” That’s what we did last night; later than usual this year, because we have to copy whatever the Americans do. Actually, why does the magic have to end? I wish we were on Daylight Savings Time all year round.

Winter is coming, and I guess we’re all depressed and miserable, because apparently we’re no longer interested in “saving daylight.” Some may fight to save seals, whales or the entire planet (keeners!), but “daylight” is just not worth the effort? Sorry, Sun, you’re just not cute and cuddly enough.

Personally I’d rather save as much of it as I can, especially in Montreal, where too many of our hours are “wasted” due of our ridiculous positioning at the eastern end of a huge time zone — we already have sunset about an hour too early for our latitude. Who really needs it to start getting light at 4:30am in June? Barcelona is only about four degrees south of here, so its day is of pretty similar length, yet sunrise and sunset are about an hour later than here, year-round.

Sigh.

Speaking of Barcelona, I’m still waiting for news on my visa (”supposed” to be processed in three months). I spoke to the Consulate again this week, and this time I got some real news. First of all, turns out I’m only one of two people waiting for a residence visa (at this office). Actually, only one of one, because the other guy finally got his visa this week. And he applied at the start of June… I applied near the end of June, so hopefully I’ll hear something this month. Is there light at the end of the tunnel? Fingers crossed that the darkest time of the year will bring me some happiness.

I’ve never been the kind of guy to try to pick up women with come-on lines, and it was interesting (actually sad and/or funny) to see one in action. Something rarely seen in the wild, like out of a National Geographic special. Except with more blood and gore.

I was on the plane a few hours ago(!). I happened to be sitting next to a very glamorous, well-dressed woman, with whom I’d had some minor interaction as we got seated…just the usual pleasantries. Two-thirds of the way through the flight, I’d been trying (unsuccessfully) to sleep when I heard a man’s voice close by. A fellow from a few rows back, who’d been seated on the opposite side of the plane, was now squatting in the aisle next to my lovely seatmate.

“Here,” he said, holding out a chit of paper to her, “can I give you this?”

“What?” said the woman. “What is this?”

“You look like a nice person [ooh, yes, I’m sure you’ve judged her ‘niceness’ merely from watching her walk past you to the lavatory!] and I would like to give you my phone number and address.” Wow, this guy wastes no time, pulls no punches and beats around no bushes.

Her fantastic reply: “For what?” You have to imagine a really strong, contemptuous emphasis on the “what!”

“Um, well…” Long pause. He knows he has a hull breach, now; he’s going down in flames. Oww, it burns! “I guess…for friendship. Can I just leave this with you?” Almost begging, now. Humour him, I’m thinking; take the chit, spare his feelings and throw it out later.

“No, thank you. Goodbye.” Cool, professional, deadly.

“Oh. Okay. Goodbye, then.” And off went poor Sad Sack, back to his seat. He wasn’t a young guy, perhaps in his late thirties or forties, and (sorry to say) not particularly good-looking, either. Not that it would have mattered, in this case. I really felt for him… Well, a bit… Okay, actually I was trying to keep from exploding with laughter. But I did feel a bit of sympathy. It was just so…pathetic. I can’t claim to have never considered doing a similar thing, but my common sense kept me from it (at the time I thought it was cowardice, but it turns out it was common sense masquerading as fear). Seen from the other side, this kind of thing is more than a smidge creepy.

Of course, ironically, the incident gave me an immediate “in” with her. Yay, I could be the “non-creepy guy”! Not that I was looking for an “in”, and indeed I had (unlike our sorry friend) noticed her very obvious wedding band.

“Hey,” I said, sulking. “Why didn’t that guy offer me friendship? You know: his number and address?”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “I can’t believe some guys! I’m married with three kids, you know.” She pointed to her ring, at which I nodded knowingly.

We went on to have a very nice chat, since any ice had been thoroughly melted by all those flames. I suppose having such “offers” is one of the pitfalls of being a good-looking woman. Or possibly, being any woman. I’d just never witnessed such a blatant and misguided attempt.

So, what do you think? Was this creepy? Funny? Flattering? Or just sad? Yeah, yeah; I’m sure he was actually a really nice guy! And so courageous — doing something like that really takes guts. Er, maybe foolhardy’s the better word. Desperate? I just wanted to take him aside, give him a good shake and say: “Ohhh, no-no-nooooo… That’s just not gonna work. Nooooo, stop… What are you doing?”

Oops, too late.